


Pour Mes Bisous

by BannedBloodOranges



Category: Agatha Christie's Poirot (TV), Poirot - Agatha Christie
Genre: Established Relationship, F/F, Fluff, Rule 63, Terrible attempt at french
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-04
Updated: 2019-04-04
Packaged: 2020-01-04 17:45:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 470
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18348584
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BannedBloodOranges/pseuds/BannedBloodOranges
Summary: Hercula's lips work efficiently, slowly, gifted with the priceless order and method so valued.





	Pour Mes Bisous

**Author's Note:**

> Part of what was essentially a much longer fic.  
> I own nothing. Non profit fun only.

Thank god she had bathed. Poirot, well, she insisted on it. It was not a proper thought - but how was this proper? On her back, her skirt tucked up into her belt, her pink blossom lingerie dangled from her heel. Carefully, Poirot removed it and folded it beside her. Her thick knees were leant on the linen shawl, not a crease in her cream suit. The sun was warm and glowing through the long Deco windows, and Athena could hear the laughter of children rising up from the opposite gardens.

"You are comfortable, mon ames?" Hercula Poirot's voice was light with amusement. Athena, feeling suitably wobbly, nodded, as Poirot's thumbs dipped between her thighs and opened her slowly.

Athena crushed her nails into the couch, squeezing her eyes tight.

"It is known only to Poirot that she does not harm her lovers," Hercula's shining head emerged from between her lanky legs. She looked at Athena's trembling lip and added tenderly; "But if this is too much mon amour, I shall stop, and not speak again of it."

The space beneath Athena was damp. It was not sweat. It had a different shame. But the sunlight bore no judgement, nor did how it fell on Hercula's pearlescent face, crinkled with her smile, and Athena nodded, accepting. Good lord, she accepted so much. The lady detective masqueraded in men's clothes, the prim and frosty Mr Lemon, the shared bedrooms and the dinner meals with candlelight and the best wine money can buy, the rolling weeks spent in hotels flush with glittering guests and the two of them, strolling onward and forever in their midnight walks. Her own slow, dawdling brain...!

Hercula's lips were between her legs, working efficiently, slowly, the priceless order and method so valued.

With the utmost delicacy, Athena Hawkins was played like a harp.

She blooded her tongue for all her gasping. Then she started to cry, to shiver, to hold back her long legs from kicking at Hercula's sloped shoulders.

"Hush, Mademoiselle Hastings!" Hercula warned, a good-hearted snap, although her Belgium eyes were beaming. "To be quiet is to be essential, non? Surely discretion is key, n'est-ce pas?"

"Maybe!" Shame be damned. "But must you be...must you be..."

"Must I be what, Mademoiselle Hastings?" came the innocuous response and the smile tugged warm at her lips, which were shining, damp. Athena keened between her teeth.

"Damn it, Poirot! What will you have me say?"

"That I am good, oui?"

Athena swallowed her pride, took her shame in hand, and nodded.

"Oui." Poirot tilted her head in a soft shrug. "I am indeed not just the detective unsurpassed, unique, indomitable. I am the best..." she leant forward, and in a tease, turned her lips to Athena's thigh, and the world rushed by in her ears. "...for my kisses."


End file.
